


(blood)lust

by orphan_account



Category: Peaky Blinders
Genre: Blood As Plot Device, Boxing, Canon Compliant Setting, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Magical Realism, POV Bonnie Gold, Possession, Witchcraft, Witches, this is essentially a character study of Bonnie with dark horror elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-30 11:42:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19852456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The night is long, and Michael learns a good deal of hard truths about his special friend.





	(blood)lust

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know what this is, but whoever you are, thank you for going through the ride with me.

He keeps his eyes on Michael the entire time. 

He’s learned how to recalibrate his most effective arsenal of attacks according to the precise instances Michael stares at him over his opponent’s shoulder, under his armpit, between bent knees.

Spitting blood, Bonnie winks at him before slamming his opponent with an uppercut to his nostrils, emptying blood vessels.

“You’re a maniac,” Michael says, flattening his kerchief down his forehead. He’s sweating clear through the fabric.

“Uh huh?”

Michael knows so very little about his life outside of this ring, this medieval venue Bonnie calls home. He’s told him stories, of course, the ones his father buries into graves with drunken fervor. 

They don’t hold up well, but Michael believes them. Every word.

Sometimes Bonnie wishes he’d been born a poet, gifted with an innate understanding of the power found in words, in their ageless music, that plaything of the heart. But those melodies, ancient choruses all, have forsaken him.

Anyway, he’d rather speak in spells, hexes of the mind. Oftentimes, they ripple out of him with no warning, as though someone apart from himself operates his mouth, blowing his lips into calculated shapes from unexplored annals of his jaw.

His mouth contorts, stunning him. He hears his own voice as if he stands on a faraway mountain peak, shouting through a blizzard. 

Swaying, his opponent buckles in on himself before collapsing against the canvas, the thunderous echo of his body galloping through the arena.

“How did you do that?” 

Staring at the vanquished foe, the young man bleeding from blackened gums, a violent tremor courses through Michael’s hands. 

Reaching through the ring, Bonnie grips the slender cane sheltered against Michael’s dampening palm. Smirking, he tilts his head.

“Time for you to meet them,” he says. 

He doesn’t elaborate. He need not spoil their fun. It’s best if Michael descends upon them unannounced. And anyway, he’s not entirely a stranger to their whims.

They’re witches, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project (including the LLF Comment Builder), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:
> 
> Short comments  
> Long comments  
> Questions  
> “<3” as extra kudos  
> Reader-reader interaction  
> This author replies to comments.


End file.
